


Freckles

by KillerQueen20



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Freckles, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, One Shot, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance, The Fall (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerQueen20/pseuds/KillerQueen20
Summary: And suddenly, the scars of hellish punishment became stars created with celestial kisses.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 183





	Freckles

Crowley was not perfect. But he strived to be.

In a demon the perfection wasn't necessary, after all, the fallen were beings who disclaim the perfection and virtue of heaven looking for autonomy and rebellion.

But Crowley, deep within his being, always strived for perfection. He would never admit it, just because he didn't understand where that little obsession came from, but always, behind every one of his actions, the attempt to become perfect and not to commit any failure was hidden. Although he not always achieved.

Crowley didn't like his freckles. He hated those little spots that formed on his cheeks. Those little imperfections that were slightly darker than his white skin and was so determined to hide. Because that would mean that even the demon Crowley was not free from imperfection.

This is how, all his eternity, from his fall to the present day, he had persisted on hiding those spots that for him were a sign of shame, with miracles, or in more mundane ways such as makeup.

And he tried harder to hide them from Aziraphale, for some reason, he could not resist his angel seeing in him what he considered his greatest damage, beyond his eyes or his demonic condition.

What Crowley did not know, or at least he had stubbornly ignored, was that sooner or later the scars are discovered, when you least expect it. And, oh! So much effort to hide them is in vain for his own damn mistake.

Because Crowley slept without a shirt, no matter if it was summer or winter. No matter how tired he was, he never wore a shirt at bedtime. And Aziraphale had no complaints about it.

But one night, while they both shared a bed, Aziraphale manages to elucidate what were specks of dust, until when he saw more carefully he realized that it was a lot of small freckles scattered along his skin, creating small constellations.

"You have freckles," he murmurs in amazement without daring to touch them.

Crowley just clenches his lips with annoyance, as if that fact was absolutely distasteful to him, and that surprises Aziraphale because when it comes to praising himself, Crowley was the first to claim his appeal in the name of vanity.

"My dear ..." And he extends his hand, trying to touch one of the tiny spots that seemed to sprinkle the demon's bare skin, but he aparts as if his touch burns. "Crowley..." reprimands him severely, but at the same time curiosity and concern for his behavior.

"Angel ..." he mutters as an apology feeling a child scolded by his mother. "They are horrible," he replies vaguely, but Aziraphale knows what he means.

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, and laughs in disbelief because he can't believe he considers his freckles a defect when they only increase his attractiveness, and that was a saying because the demon was handsome enough before his eyes.

"Please don't laugh, angel," Crowley replies in pain at his angel's laughter. "They're like scars to me."

And they were. The spots on his skin were not freckles as such, but dust, stardust, which was impregnated on his skin when he created stars, back in the distant past when he called himself Raphael and was an archangel, one of the most important.

These memories came to light when reminiscence mingles with melancholy and leads to the most painful regressions of his past when he vaguely recalls his old life as an archangel, creator of stars and galaxies.

One of the many punishments he received when he fell, in addition to the gradual loss of some of his memories and seeing his golden eyes becoming that amber and serpentine look, was that the splendorous dust that spread through his being burned when he fell, impregnated to his skin with great ardency until they finally merged until they were only dark spots that reminded him with great pain that something he loved became a mark of his grief and condemnation.

"It's like seeing a whole galaxy on your skin," Aziraphale says, waking him from his thoughts while admiring the small spots that adorn his dermis. He runs his hands over the freckles as if he didn't believe they were real, and for the first time, Crowley allowed himself to relax while feeling the angel's touch pass through every imaginable place on his skin.

And that is when Aziraphale Z. Fell was totally and completely in love with the spots that adorned the body of Anthony J. Crowley, which passed both on his face and his arms and legs, not counting the others that he knew in what others of part of their body they were.

From top to bottom, from side to side, from face to elbow.

How was that possible? How was it possible that Crowley was even more beautiful? How could the spots on your skin make it an Adonis before the eyes of the world? And more importantly, why would Crowley try to hide them from the eyes of others?

"This is beautiful," he says as if it were the absolute truth, and that is, for him, it is.

"Angel," Crowley tries to protest and Aziraphale silences him with a kiss, but not one on the lips, but on the naked skin of the demon, treating him with the veneration that no demon would believe he deserved.

"They say freckles are kisses of angels ..." he murmurs against his skin and that argument is enough for the demon to silence his protests and continue to feel as the angel left a path of kisses all over his skin.

"Oh, then," he stops Aziraphale's thorough task to kissing his lips. "Make my skin a galaxy, I'm a blank canvas just for you."

And suddenly, the scars of hellish punishment became stars created with celestial kisses.


End file.
